


Best Laid Plans (Off The Cuff Remix)

by fadagaski



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-02
Updated: 2011-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-18 22:05:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadagaski/pseuds/fadagaski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard is halfway through coffee and grits before he realises what day it is. He isn't the only one not feeling the full holiday cheer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Laid Plans (Off The Cuff Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/3218) by lackadaisy. 



If he's honest, Leonard doesn't even realise what day it is until he's halfway through his grits and mainlining coffee like it's going out of fashion. Through bleary eyes he observes the hodge-podge of multiculturally-appropriate seasonal decorations adorning the mess in a riot of offensive colours. There's none of the religiosity that he remembers from home, but there's enough noise to rival even a full McCoy-clan gathering.

"Happy holidays, sir!" Chekov enthuses as he bounces past. Leonard grunts into his coffee. For one brief moment, he allows himself to think of Joanna back home in Georgia, racing to the tree for her presents, singing carols with her grandparents by the piano, writing out her thank you notes with a tongue poking between her lips. It's a relief to flee to Sickbay after that.

Christmas Day or not, they're all on this bucket of bolts to work, and so work they must. It's quiet for most of his shift (Beta, thank God for small miracles) with nothing more serious than an allergic reaction to mistletoe. He's secretly amazed the patient _isn't_ Jim. But Leonard gets to flex his hypospray-skills towards the middle of the afternoon with a sudden influx of mono. A significant number of crewman leave his care rubbing the sore spot on their necks, and red-faced from his stern lecture. Perversely, Leonard's almost cheerful. It's at least mindless work to keep his thoughts occupied on the _Enterprise_ , and not back on Earth.

Surprise patient of the day goes to Uhura, who turns up an hour before the end of his shift, and therefore an hour before the end of hers. As CMO, he is primary physician to all Bridge staff and senior officers. Spying her perched on a bed, black leather boots dangling a foot from the floor, Leonard winds his way over. He draws a screen to give them some privacy.

"You're not bleeding from any obvious wounds, and the green goblin hasn't escorted you here personally," he opens. She rolls her eyes at his insult to her boyfriend. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Lieutenant?"

"I missed my contraceptive jab in the fiasco last week," she says. The fiasco in question had been a a warp core 'mishap', as Scotty called it, which had them floating powerless on the far side of a pulsar that – for reasons that made Spock rattle on about how 'fascinating' they were – left them in a communication deadzone. Uhura and her Comms team had worked round the clock with Engineering to overcome the block. Leonard nods in understanding.

"Have you had intercourse since then?" he asks as he combs through his vials for the right one, before clicking it into the open slot on his hypospray. Uhura shakes her head, ponytail rustling like a snake down the length of her back.

"We've both been too tired for anything more than a kiss goodnight," she says. Leonard pulls a face.

"I don't need to know that," he mutters. Uhura laughs at him. With Jim, Leonard would jab him with the hypospray in revenge, but his upbringing gets the better of Leonard and he doses Uhura with a gentle touch.

"Thank you," she says, and hops off the bed. It always surprises Leonard at how short she is in stature, when her presence is so forceful. She barely comes up to his clavicle.

"You're welcome," he says. Just before she leaves, Uhura turns back to him.

"Oh, and you forgot to forward me your data packet for Earth transmission. The captain's at my station with clearance to send it, if you want it to get home any time in the next forty-eight hours."

"Jim's working Comms?" Leonard asks, nonplussed. Uhura shrugs her delicate shoulders.

"He'd forgotten to send me his packet too, but when I reminded him he said he would do it himself, and then dismissed me to spend a little extra time with Spock." She nibbles at her lower lip. "Normally I wouldn't trust him with my station, but Spock and I have been on opposite shifts for two weeks now. We've hardly seen each other."

"Then don't let me keep you," Leonard says, and shoos her to the door.

Leonard retreats to his office, where he sits and agonises over what – if anything – he should send to Earth. He's a little shamefaced that he forgot it was the holiday season, though the _Enterprise_ has certainly been kept busy enough to excuse it. He tries to recall the look on Joanna's face ripping off wrapping paper, face alight with joy, but the girl in his memories is barely more than a toddler. The girl staring out from the picture on his desk is a good deal older, the baby fat melted away to reveal the strong features of a stern-faced McCoy. She's her daddy's girl, through and through. He hopes she doesn't hold grudges like a McCoy too.

In the end, Leonard films a short message. He hates being on camera, but he lives for those small clips he receives from Joanna, and figures – hopes – that she feels the same. He tries not to remember that that there hasn't been a vid yet this year.

Along with his film, he sends instructions to have credits transferred from his account to Joanna's, and tells her that a girl as grown up as she is can make her own responsible choices. It's a cop-out, he knows. He dreads the day that she realises it too.

More exhausted than he has any right to be after such a simple shift, Leonard heads to the mess for dinner. It's even more exuberant than breakfast had been, packed to overflowing with crewmen laughing and swapping gifts. The floor is littered with wrapping paper. When he squeezes onto a table with his prime rib and mash, Nurse Schmitt waves a cracker under his nose.

"Come on, doctor!" she says, laughing. Leonard rolls his eyes, but Schmitt has been homesick lately, and it's a relief to see her enjoying the company of her colleagues for once. He pulls his end of the cracker, and it lets off a satisfying pop. "You win!" She hands him the cheap toy starship that was inside, and places the green paper crown on his head. "Oh, so handsome!" she says. Leonard gives her a dark look.

His ears are ringing from the cacophany of the mess, made all the worse when someone began an improptu and off-key caroling competition. The quiet of Leonard's quarters are a blessed relief. A few of the crew had asked him to join them for games or a quiet drink. Leonard was touched, but it's Friday. Jim will wonder where he is if he isn't there for the weekly bourbon. Even though on a ship everyone works every day, Leonard likes the ritual of toasting the incoming weekend. In the meantime, he has some journals to catch up on.

It's easy to lose track of time on _Enterprise_. Leonard is so absorbed in his reading material he almost misses the chime at the door. He looks up, blinking tired eyes. "Enter," he calls, fetching tumblers and bourbon from the cupboard under his desk.

It isn't Jim, however. Silhoetted in the brigher light from the corridor is Spock, stood at ease with hands behind his back. Leonard can feel the hackles rise on the back of his neck, despite himself. "What do you want?" he growls. Spock steps into the room, and the door slides shut behind him.

"Nyota has requested that I speak to you regarding the captain," he says. Leonard can feel a headache blooming behind his narrowed eyes.

"Exactly how much trouble can Jim get into when he's off-shift?" he asks. Then he thinks about that statement, and almost hits himself. "Never mind," he says. "What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing, per se," Spock says. "The captain is currently manning the Comms station on the Bridge, routing crew data packets to Earth via subspace relay station ZR-359."

Leonard is not a stupid man. He knows this isn't about Jim playing the nice captain, letting other officers skip their shifts. This is about family. This is about what Leonard snapped at Jim only a few weeks before. Jim had been needling, as always, for Leonard to give Spock a chance. He'd said it would make the dinners held for senior officers a lot less frigid if Leonard and Spock weren't sat like immovable glaciers at opposite ends of the table. Leonard had politely – okay, less than politely – told Jim where to shove it.

 _"But we're a family, Bones!"_ Jim had said, pulling out the puppy eyes and the pleading voice. And Leonard had snapped back in a fit of pique,

 _"I'm not going to let you guilt trip me with this idea of some hypothetical family you've invented for yourself!"_ He'd stormed off after that.

"Nyota and I," Spock says, recapturing Leonard's attention, "share the concern that the captain is overtaxing himself. Whilst this in itself is not unusual, Nyota has advised that this particular day is of special importance and should be spent with family. I understand this is not restricted to blood relations." Leonard pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes tight shut. "Do you wish for me to relieve the captain?" Spock asks.

"No," Leonard sighs. "I'll do it."

"Then I bid you goodnight." Spock leaves with as little fanfare as he arrived.

Leonard feels old levering himself out of his chair under the watchful eye of Joanna's photograph. He leaves the bourbon out, a sign of hope if not trust that he can make Jim see reason.

It's an entirely new duty crew on the Bridge for the night watch. Sulu's at the helm, but the captain's chair is empty. Leonard spots Jim slouching at Uhura's station, his fingers roving over the buttons with effortless ease, face a mindless blank.

"Why are you still up here?" Leonard demands. His voice is surprisingly loud in the quiet room, and several people flinch. Not Jim, though.

"Hey Bones," he greets, leaning his head back. "I just sent your packet home. I bumped its priority grade up so it should reach Jo-Jo by tomorrow morning, unless there's a Grade A message hogging subspace." He shoots Leonard a cheeky grin. "Just don't tell anyone," he says.

"That's not why I'm here," Leonard says. Jim turns back to the Comms station. He doesn't say anything. There's a half-empty plate of sugar cookies next to him, and he takes one, munching on it without a thought to the dusting of crumbs down the front of his uniform. "Damn it Jim."

"What?" Jim asks. Leonard heaves a sigh that feels like it's come from the bottom of his soul. He doesn't have the energy for a fight with Jim, not today, when Jim's bent the rules to get Leonard's message home to Joanna. Not when the rest of the crew have been or are engaged in singing, drinking, and dancing together, simple gifts cooed over and cherished and kept safe, the _Enterprise_ a bright spot of seasonal joy in the inky black of space.

"There's a shot of bourbon waiting for you," Leonard entices instead. "It's Friday, after all."

"Raincheck?" Jim says. "I was gonna hit the sim suite later."

"Again?" Leonard growls. "In the last couple of weeks you've spent more time in that stupid room than you have on your stupid chair." He's aware, suddenly, of the tense silence of the Bridge. Everyone is studiously _not_ looking at them. It's common knowledge that Leonard has special privileges when it comes to the captain, but even so, berating a senior officer – the most senior officer – in front of his subordinates is probably not Leonard's greatest decision to date. Jim is very particular about the image he presents to the crew, Leonard knows. "Just – come down. Please," he says.

For a long moment, Jim keeps Leonard hanging. Just when he's about to give up, stalk back to his quarters and drink the whole damn bottle himself, Jim relents. "Okay," he says. He calls up the officer who is supposed to be on shift, then hands the conn off to Sulu. "Lead the way, Bones."

There's a message flashing on his vidscreen when Leonard enters his quarters, Jim at his heels. "Let me just get this," Leonard says. Jim stays silent, mooching to the desk to pour a couple fingers for himself. The vid loads, and Leonard is knocked breathless by the sight of his baby girl. He hits play, and lets her voice wash over him. She's awkward at first, halting, as she talks about the presents she's received – "A new sweater, and a stuffed doll, and some French-language software..." - but she warms up, babbling about school projects and horse riding and her mother's new job.

Leonard's crying by the end of the vid, a slow trickle of tears down his cheeks for the girl growing up without him. He turns to Jim, who offers him a tumbler. They drink without toasting.

After a few more fingers, Leonard's slouching in his chair almost as bad as Jim, though his spine is starting to protest. He straightens with a few pops that sound like crackers snapping. Jim is brooding into his drink.

"Look, Jim," Leonard starts. Jim glances up. "I'll try. With Spock. I won't promise anything, but I'll give it a shot." Jim shrugs one shoulder.

"Don't bother. You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your relatives. There's no point if I'm forcing you." There's a heavy bitterness to his tone that Leonard has heard before.

"You didn't get anything from home?" he asks, gentle. Jim snorts and chugs the last sip of bourbon.

"This _is_ home," he says. He doesn't seem particularly happy about that. Leonard looks up at the beautiful face of his baby girl, frozen on the vidscreen, a gift more precious than anything anyone could wrap up in taudy paper for him. He has the dim realisation that Jim must have spotted the vid in the huge queue of incoming files that always deluges Comms over the holiday period, and forwarded it to Leonard himself.

"At least you're with family," he says. He catches Jim's eye as he lifts his glass in a toast.

"Hypothetical family," Jim counters. Leonard shakes his head, denying his own words come back to haunt him.

"Specially selected family. Tried and tested. They'll stick with you through thick and thin." He smiles. "And so will I." Leonard drinks, pours another shot for them both, and pretends not to notice Jim's damp eyes.


End file.
